


The Adventure Of The Murderous Savages (1902)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [201]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Bigamy, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Murder, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 01:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11772879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A curious case which Sherlock, harsh on himself as ever, marked down as a failure on his part as he was effectively unable to bring the guilty to justice. But as it turned out, justice eventually came to them. Out of a cold, dark night.





	The Adventure Of The Murderous Savages (1902)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majesticduxk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/gifts).



> Mentioned elsewhere as 'the murder of Victor Savage'.

In my time with Sherlock we encountered many criminals, and many killers, people who ended someone else's life for a whole variety of reasons. But few chilled me more than in this case, and the mysterious death of Mr. Victor Savage of number forty-one, Lupin Terrace, St. Pancras. Because however deserving the dead man may have been of his fate, bringing his killers to justice was impossible. 

But justice is seldom denied, and eventually it came to them out of a cold, dark night.

+~+~+

“John”, Sherlock said across the breakfast table one morning, “you really must stop writing those cases where people send me letters appealing to my curiosity. If I have one more letter like this, I will have to change my address!”

I smiled at his feigned indignation.

“What is it this time?” I asked.

“A Mr. Quentin Bywater of the Middlesex & Surrey Insurance Corporation wishes to avail himself of our services due, and I quote, 'to an irregular occurrence of coincidences'. Honestly!”

“And that is all he says?” I asked. 

“That is his idea of a description”, Sherlock said. “He asks if it is possible for us to call on him at his company offices in Euston any time this morning.”

“Why not?” I said languidly. I was feeling well-disposed to the world in general, mainly because the “Times”, showing some excellent taste, had seen fit to write a short article praising my latest set of works about my friend. And this time they had refrained from decrying my role in matters, though I suspected that that was at least partly due to Sherlock's reaction the last time that they had done that. 

I took the telegram and read it.

“His offices are in Albany Street”, I said. “That is just the other side of Regent's Park. We often walk there, so it would not be that much further.”

He snorted in disdain.

“If this turns out to be a simple case of insurance fraud, I shall not be pleased!” he said firmly, sipping his fourth coffee of the day.

Reader, it was not.

+~+~+

Mr. Quentin Bywater was, I quickly reckoned, one of those young fellows who had been given far too much responsibility far too soon. I rapidly gained the impression that he considered himself to be doing _us_ a favour, not the other way round. I remained silent, though. It was always amusing to watch potential clients shoot themselves in the foot.

“I have to say that the matters in this case are most confidential, gentlemen, most confidential”, he babbled. “Indeed, were it not for a most opportune meeting with my dear brother yesterday, I would not be in this situation of being able to offer you this most fascinating case. It concerns a certain client of ours – I will call him Mr. Smith – who....”

Sherlock stood up.

“I am afraid that you have misread the doctor's books, sir”, he said firmly. “I require absolute honesty and complete disclosure of _all_ facts from _all_ potential clients, without exception. Discretion is assured, of course, but I really cannot be having with aliases at this stage of affairs. If that is a problem, then it is best that we terminate this meeting as of now.”

Mr. Bywater was doing a remarkably accurate impression of a goldfish, clearly stunned that my friend was for some strange reason not at his beck and call. It was really quite comical to see a man's total world view so tilting on its axis. He shuddered delicately, but opened a desk drawer and drew out two files, opening the top one.

“I should explain that my brother Oliver and I are twins, and started careers in insurance at the same time, albeit with different companies”, he said. “His firm, the Central & West London, is based near Euston Railway Station, so we often meet for lunch and, of course, discuss cases. Not by name, for obvious reasons.”

“Obviously”, Sherlock said, sitting down again. “Pray continue.”

“At the start of the year, my firm welcomed a new client”, he said. “One Mrs. Mary Savage of St. Pancras wished to insure her husband Victor's life; he works as a casual ship-hand, going wherever there is work. She came in on January the second and paid her first premium immediately, which in itself was a little unusual; we encouraged her as we do all clients to go away and think on matters first. Last month, not long after her third premium, her husband was on board the brig _“Calypso”_ to Gibraltar, which sank off Cape Trafalgar. Unfortunately that particular shipping company, most foolishly in my opinion, keeps its records on board its ships, so we cannot know if he actually boarded her. His widow immediately put in a claim, which we are considering.

“It seems cut and dried to me”, I offered. “What is the problem?”

He fixed me with a look.

“The problem, doctor”, he said, “is my brother. I mentioned the case to him – no names, of course – and he said that he had had almost exactly the same thing happen to his company. A Mrs. _Margaret_ Savage, of King's Cross this time, had insured the life of her husband – also a Mr. Victor Savage – on the very same day, and he too had been on the _“Calypso”_. I do not like it. Something smells wrong.”

A cruel or malicious person would have taken that opportunity to remark on our host's markedly excessive use of _eau de cologne_ (any nearer the fire, and he might well have gone up in flames!). I bit my lip, and Sherlock, ever the mind-reader, glared warningly at me. Some things never changed.

“You have undertaken your own inquiries, I presume”, he said. “What have you found out so far?”

“First, the two cases are indeed separate”, he said. “The Mrs. Savage in St. Pancras and the Mrs. Savage in King's Cross are two different ladies, one presumes – hopes – with two separate if identically-named husbands. Unfortunately establishing whether said husbands were on board the ship when it sank is very difficult. Both the ships and the docks are _meant_ to keep accurate logs of who is where and on what ship, but the last-minute use of casual labour is regrettably common, and aliases, for whatever reason, are not unknown. I have only been able to establish that the docks had two Mr. Victor Savages registered as available for work that day, though that in itself does not mean that they were at the docks. Unfortunately they can register a day in advance, and worse, someone can register for them if they themselves are unavailable. Most unsatisfactory, I am sure you will agree. I cannot definitely say that that the two men were _not_ on that ship, and my superior, Mr. Featherley, is pressing me to conclude the case. It is most vexing.”

I looked at Sherlock, wondering if he was going to take the case or not. With Mr. Bywater's attitude doing him no favours, it seemed unlikely, but again he surprised me. 

“I will look into this for you”, he said. “You are aware, of course, that my fees are non-negotiable, and I expect _all_ my expenses to be covered?”

The insurance agent looked uncomfortable at the idea of parting with actual money, but nodded. 

“Excellent!" Sherlock smiled, collecting up the papers on the table. “We shall take these and examine them, and decide then upon our next course of action.”

+~+~+

Our next course of action, the following day, was an early cab-ride to King's Cross. If it was not for the unseasonable hour, I might have expected Sherlock to have interviewed one of the two ladies, but instead we went to the station and boarded a Great Northern Railway express.

“I wish to understand these two men better”, Sherlock explained, once we were safely in our first-class carriage. “Assuming it is two and not one, that is. I could of course ask at the docks, but on checking the shipping lists I saw that the St. Pancras Mr. Savage's last ship, the steamship _“Dodecanesia”_ , is currently being repaired in Hull. I am hoping that Captain Ivan Lessing will be able to throw some light on the man that he recently employed.”

The journey passed uneventfully, and we were soon pulling into the North Eastern Railway station in the famous East Riding port. A short cab-ride took us to the _“Dodecanesia”_ , a ship which from its bedraggled appearance had clearly seen better days. We went on board, and a sailor showed us to the captain's quarters. 

I have to say that I was surprised by what we found. I had always thought sailors a licentious bunch, but the room we were shown to could have been that of a parish priest anywhere in the British Isles, the portholes apart. Captain Lessing was, despite his Christian name, as English as we were, a tall bearded man who seemed to have a permanent look of severity on his face. Then again, in his post and with sailors being what they are, I should probably have looked much the same. 

“Yes, I recall Savage”, he said, a tone of disapproval entering his voice. “One of those who would have had a girl in every port if he could have gotten away with it. I do remember being surprised when I learnt that he was in fact married. It somewhat lowered my opinion of the fairer sex, I have to say.”

“Are you aware that his ship went down last month?” Sherlock asked.

“No”, he said. “Which ship?”

“The _“Calypso”_ , off Cape Trafalgar”, Sherlock said. The captain sighed.

“I feared that he was tempting the Fates”, he said wryly. “He said once that that wife of his – Peg – was saving every penny she could in case the worst happened. He was annoyed at not getting enough beer money, which was typical of the man. He said once that she was more likely to wear herself out cleaning that he was to go down at sea. And now he has.”

Sherlock seemed surprised at that for some reason, but did not push whatever he was thinking. We said our goodbyes and disembarked, returning to the station. Once we were on the train, he spent some time looking through the files, saying nothing.

+~+~+

“You know something”, I said. 

“I cannot be certain”, he said. "However, the lives of these two men puzzle me.”

“What about them?” I asked.

“The St. Pancras Mr. Savage, to start with”, he said. “He went on three major voyages before his fatal one, all last year; of course there may have been more that were undocumented, but those we cannot know about. In March and April he was sailing to various Irish ports, in July he went across to the Netherlands and Germany, and in October he was with the _“Dodecanesia”_ to Spain and south-west France. This January just gone, his wife Mary takes out an insurance policy on him, and he dies two months later. She is now a relatively rich woman, or will be once the claim goes through.”

“You think that it will go through?” I asked.

“I cannot see how the company can turn it down”, he said. “Unless they reason that she might not want to risk spending money on a lawyer and then losing, but the courts tend not to favour insurance companies unless there is clear evidence of fraud on the claimant's part, let alone the fact that any publicity would doubtless be to the company's discredit. Then there is the King's Cross Mr. Savage. He spends most of the winter employed on a whaler in Norway, sails to Greece and back in May and June, and come autumn he is employed on a schooner out of Great Yarmouth. The same day that one Mrs. Savage insures her husband's life, the other Mrs. Savage does exactly the same – and they both become rich widows courtesy of the same wreck.”

“I suppose that the same sort of people employ casual seamen each time”, I said. “They would likely be employed – or not – at similar times. Though it is certainly odd that two men who died on the same ship had the same name, especially a relatively unusual one.”

He shook his head.

“I have an idea”, he said. “I think that tomorrow, we will go to St. Pancras.”

“We are almost going there now”, I pointed out. “Why not call in on the way back?”

“Because tomorrow is Sunday”, he said, “and I think that we will be more likely to catch the person that I wish to interview.”

+~+~+

I assumed, not unnaturally, that when we arrived in the St. Pancras area just after lunch the following day, we were to meet that area's Mrs. Savage. We did indeed drive to Lupin Terrace, but rather than go to number forty-one, Sherlock led me into the local shop where he purchased a newspaper and made idle talk with the shop-assistant (yes, she simpered at him, as if you have to ask!). I was surprised at his lack of urgency, but I reckoned that he would have his reasons. 

Of course he had.

“We need to go to number eight”, he said. “According to the girl, 'that creepy sourpuss Mrs. Knowsley is the nosiest cat in the neighbourhood'.”

I smiled at his impression, and we walked the short distance down the street to the house in question.

+~+~+

Mrs. Desdemona Knowsley was short, wore pince-nez, and squinted uncertainly at us even after Sherlock presented his card. I supposed that I should have been glad that she was not simpering at my man. 

Yet.

“You are clearly a lady of intelligence”, Sherlock began, “so I will not beat around the bush. I am investigating an insurance claim by one of your neighbours, a Mrs. Savage. I am afraid” - he sighed theatrically - “that the insurance company is being difficult, and endeavouring to find reasons not to pay out. I need to find out anything about the lady and her late husband that will help expedite the claim.”

“Are you working for the company?” she asked dubiously.

“I always work for justice”, Sherlock said. “If the claim is just, I will move heaven and earth to make sure that they meet it fully and promptly. If it is unjust, I will move heaven and earth to oppose it. As your house is so well-positioned, I wondered if you had seen anything odd as of late?”

I had often remarked that Sherlock could charm almost any member of the opposite sex. This one, I thought, would be a harder nut to crack – but then I saw her visibly crumbling. 

“If I tell you what I know, it will be in confidence?” she asked.

“As a Father confessor”, he assured her. She nodded.

“All right”, she said. “I can tell you two things. First, she had a male visitor the day before her husband came back the last time. A sailor from the way he walked; they all roll a bit. He only stayed about an hour, then he left. I didn't see him again.”

“May I ask how he was dressed?” Sherlock asked. She looked surprised at the question.

“Funny you should ask that”, she said. “That was why I noticed him; way smarter than any tar I've ever seen. And he didn't want to be seen; he went down to the end of the road and out through the park, rather than back this way. If I hadn't have happened to have been cleaning the front step at the time, I'd have missed him.”

'Cleaning the front step', I thought cattily. I wondered how many times she had had to clean it before the sailor had left. 

Sherlock shot me a warning look. I narrowly refrained from rolling my eyes.

“The other thing was something and nothing”, she said, “but my daughter reads those stories of yours, doctor, so I know it's sometimes the trivial things that count. Mr. Savage always left his house at the same time each day he was home; regular as clockwork, he was. Except that last day, he didn't.”

“Could he have done as the visitor did, and gone the other way?” Sherlock asked. She shook her head.

“He always came up the road, without fail”, she said. “Man of habit.”

“How odd”, I said. 

“Well, thank you for sparing the time to see us”. Sherlock said. “I do not suppose you happen to know whether Mrs. Savage is at home today?”

She looked across at the mantle-piece clock.

“She does a big clean-through for a gentleman in Warren Street on Sunday afternoons, so no.” She hesitated before continuing. “Of course an old lady like me does not know what goes on behind closed doors, sirs, but I am inclined to offer you some advice. Houses like the ones round here are mean and cramped, but everyone is proud of their back gardens.”

I looked at her, expecting more, but apparently that was it. Sherlock merely bowed to her. 

“I shall bear that in mind”, he promised.

I turned to lead the way out, but definitely caught a simper from the woman as I did so. I did not bother to hide the eye-roll. I could not take him anywhere!

+~+~+

We returned to the head of the street, and I fully expected Sherlock to hire a cab. Instead he went round to the narrow alley that ran along the back of the terraced houses, which was deserted this Sabbath morn. 

“What are we looking for?” I asked.

“Mrs. Savage's house”, he said. “Mrs. Knowsley knows rather more than she told us, though she was gracious enough to provide us with a clue. Since Mrs. Savage is absent, I would like to take the chance to examine her garden.”

Only some of the back gates were marked with numbers, but fortunately enough of them to work out by deduction as to which was number forty-one. Sherlock slipped in quietly, and I followed him. We found ourselves in a small garden, with a run-down shed that took up nearly a quarter of it. There was a well-kept flower-bed along one side, a narrow path next to it, and a tiny lawn between the shed and the house that looked surprisingly well cared-for.

“I think that we have seen enough here”, Sherlock said, much to my surprise. “Come.”

I was surprised, but then I supposed there was little else to see, although I had expected him to look inside the shed. We returned to the street to catch a cab home.

+~+~+

“The case is closed.”

I looked at Sherlock in surprise. It was late the following morning in Baker Street, and he looked more than a little disgruntled. I stood up and went over to him, massaging his shoulders and causing him to let out a deep sigh.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“I telegraphed to Mr. Bywater at the insurance company yesterday”, he said. “In light of my low opinion of him as a human being, I stated what my expenses in the case had been and that I was ready to inform him of my findings. He sent a cheque round this morning.”

I continued massaging him. “And?” I prompted.

“He has deducted a sum of money because, and I quote, 'we expected all travel expenses to be second-class at most'. And he wants to come here this afternoon to learn the outcome of the case.”

“Which is?” I asked.

We were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Sherlock smiled, and rolled his shoulders.

“That will be our guest”, he said. “Would you greet them and make them comfortable, John?”

I gave his shoulders one last squeeze and walked over to the door to meet our guest. It was Mrs. Desdemona Knowsley.

“I received your invitation, sir”, she said to Sherlock, taking her seat. “I believe you said that you were working for the insurance company in Mrs. Savage's case?”

He smiled.

“I believe I rather said that I was working for justice”, he said. “And the subsequent actions of that company, coupled with what I believe to have happened, have caused me to reach a decision. I thought it only courteous to invite you here to share it.”

“Thank you”, she said.

“I will later be informing my contact at the insurance company that the coincidence of two identically-named sailors having their lives insured for vast sums by their wives on the same day, and then both dying in the same shipwreck, is indeed just that”, he said. “Coincidences do happen, I am told.”

“Indeed they do”, she said. She looked at him almost playfully. “Are you certain that this is one of them, sir?”

He sat back, and pressed his fingers together. 

“I had a case quite recently”, he said. “A sailor, being what sailors are, had contrived to marry two women who lived not that far apart. He had no children with either of them, which I suppose was a blessed relief, but is it not truly said that no matter how hard one tries to hide it, your sins will find you out?”

“It is so said”, she agreed.

“One of his wives, the one living in St. Pancras, became suspicious”, he went on. “The amount of time her husband spent at sea and the money that he reluctantly handed over to her seemed not to tally. It then chanced to be this sailor's bad luck to be picked for a voyage on a ship whose captain exercised a strict moral code. And the problem with living two lives is that, occasionally, one slips up. Although masquerading as the man who lived with a woman in St. Pancras, one day he used the name of the wife in King's Cross. The captain was as his job demands a sharp fellow; he wrote to the wife in St. Pancras and discovered the truth.”

“He was, as I said, a highly moral man. He decided that the wife in St. Pancras should be informed of the perfidy of her husband – permit me the indulgence of those two terms; we do not know which marriage is legal, or even if he has more wives elsewhere, perish the thought! I do not know whether the captain also contacted the wife in King's Cross or if one of the ladies contacted the other, but that is immaterial to the case. Both women knew, both women wanted revenge - and they decided to deal with their errant husband once and for all.”

“I do not know the details, but I suspect that poison, often derisively and unfairly labelled 'a woman's weapon', was the agent chosen. Both women insured their husband's life for large sums of money. They then purchased a small lawn for the back garden of the St. Pancras wife's house, but it was what was to be laid under that lawn that was significant. One faithless, philandering husband. They took the precaution that one of them registered the husband at the docks, thus creating the impression that there were two 'Victor Savages'. Then they waited for a ship to sink that sailed from those docks, and when one did, they both claimed that he was on it. It was their bad luck that, although they had insured the faithless fellow at separate insurance companies, two brothers worked at the two companies and happened to subsequently discuss the case, which led one of them to call me in.”

“That was indeed bad luck”, she said. “Tell me, in this totally unrelated case concerning people of whom I know precisely nothing, what happened to the two ladies?”

Sherlock hesitated.

“I rather think that they got away with it”, he said. “In the balance of murder against bigamy, one must weigh things very carefully, including the fact that no jury in England would convict them of a capital offence. Not just because of the bigamy, bad enough as that is, but also because it could never be clear as to which one administered the fatal dose. Though I might hope that an acquaintance of these ladies might be gracious enough to advise them to be very, _very_ careful in the future. The trouble with starting out on a life of crime is that it is the perennial slippery slope. As Shakespeare's Macbeth found out, the first crime is morally tortuous, but subsequent ones become ever easier. And it always ends very badly.”

“One can only hope one of them has a good enough friend to do just that”, she said, rising to her feet. “Thank you, gentlemen. It has been a most informative visit.”

She smiled, and left. 

+~+~+

Alright, not without the inevitable simper!

+~+~+

I stared at Sherlock in surprise.

“You are letting these women get away with murder?” I asked.

“As I said”, he sighed. “You know that no jury in the land would convict them on the death penalty once the truth came out, let alone the fact that such a thing would benefit that young ass of an insurance agent. Indeed, I fully suspect that even if they were found guilty of a lesser crime, a judge would let them walk free, or impose only a nominal sentence. And as I also said, I am quite sure women capable of what they did have a contingency in place that would involve each accusing the other if it came to trial. It could never be proven as to which of them did poison him.”

I could see his point.

“How would you react if you thought I was secretly married to someone else?” he asked. I gave him such a look.

“The drop would be worth it!” I almost snarled. He smiled at my reaction.

“Exactly”, he said. “Hell hath no fury like a woman – or a partner - scorned. And the philandering Mr. Victor Savage had to go and find that out the hard way!”

He returned to his book, and I mused on his words for a moment. My innate insecurities often left me wondering what Sherlock saw in me sometimes, or why he stayed with me when he could have done so much better. My thoughts were only interrupted when he suddenly stood up.

“Come!” he said tersely.

I followed him in surprise as he all but dragged me to the bedroom. He bade me stand at the end of the bed, and slipped round behind me, ordering me not to look round. By the time I had even considered objecting, he was back in front of me again. 

Stark naked! I whimpered.

“John”, he said softly, slowly unbuttoning my shirt, “you have to stop this.”

“Stop what?” I asked, hoping this would be a short conversation. I always had trouble with those word things after sex with Sherlock, and after my recent birthday and his 'marking' of it, I had been left hoarse for most of that and the following day, much to our landlady's ill-concealed amusement.

“Stop thinking so ill of yourself”, he said, slipping my shirt off my back and running his hands over my chest. “I love only you, and I will always love only you, until my dying breath.”

I did not have much breath left as he slowly undid my trousers, pulling them down to the ground and slipping his hands inside my underpants to rub my rapidly-hardening cock.

“Sherlock!” I whined. 

“Patience is a virtue, John”, he smiled. I bit back what would doubtless have been a most majestic reply had I been able to put it into words, and just went along for the ride. He slowly slipped my underpants down, and I stepped out of them, now wearing only my socks. He stepped in behind me, and began rubbing his own hard cock up against my backside, holding me to prevent me from pushing back against him.

“Oh Sherlock!” I moaned, desperate for more. He kissed along my back, but did not push in, seemingly content to torture me in this way. Then without warning, he reached round and lightly touched my cock.

I exploded like a rocket.

He stepped closer, still not entering me but holding me as I came, then led me gently to the bed and sat me down. My legs felt like jelly, and I could not believe that he had made me come without even being inside of me. Perhaps there was hope for the over-fifties John Watson yet.

“I love you so much”, he whispered. “And when you are ready, I want you to take me standing.”

And there went any chance of my getting some rest. As I so often thought, the man was trying to kill me through sex!

I really hoped that he would keep trying!

+~+~+

Postscriptum: Although Sherlock decided not to pursue the ladies in question, I know that as with several other cases, he kept an eye on things in the years after. They did not stray again into a life of crime, but enjoyed their gains at the expense of the insurance company, who in my opinion deserved to lose that money for the way they treated Sherlock. However, this was to be one of those cases when justice was as I said earlier not to be denied. Ten years passed, at the end of which time the ladies decided to leave England for the United States. They travelled first-class on the White Star Line's newest liner, “Titanic”....

+~+~+

In our next adventure, there is a ghost town that never had any inhabitants to start with, and Sherlock accepts payment in coin.


End file.
